With characteristic courage, the minister's wife had chosen Paul's Epistle to the Romans for the subject of study, and to-night the lesson was the redoubtable ninth chapter, that arsenal for Calvinistic champions. First the verses were repeated by the class in concert, and the members vied with each other in ****** this a perfect exercise, then the teaching of the chapter was set forth in ******, lucid speech. The last half hour was devoted to the discussion of questions, raised either by the teacher or by any member of the class. To-night the class was slow in asking questions. They were face to face with the tremendous Pauline Doctrine of Sovereignty. It was significant that by Macdonald Dubh, his brother, and the other older and more experienced members of the class, the doctrine was regarded as absolutely inevitable and was accepted without question, while by Yankee and Ranald and all the younger members of the class, it was rejected with fierce resentment. The older men had been taught by the experience of long and bitter years, that above all their strength, however mighty, a power, resistless and often inscrutable, determined their lives. The younger men, their hearts beating with conscious power and *******, resented this control, or accepting it, refused to assume the responsibility for the outcome of their lives. It was the old, old strife, the insoluble mystery; and the minister's wife, far from ****** light of it, allowed its full weight to press in upon the members of her class, and wisely left the question as the apostle leaves it, with a statement of the two great truths of Sovereignty and Free Will without attempting the impossible task of harmonizing these into a perfect system. After a half-hour of discussion, she brought the lesson to a close with a very short and very ****** presentation of the practical bearing of the great doctrine. And while the mystery remained unsolved, the limpid clearness of her thought, the humble attitude of mind, the sympathy with doubt, and above all, the sweet and tender pathos that filled her voice, sent the class away humbled, subdued, comforted, and willing to wait the day of clearer light. Not that they were done with Pharaoh and his untoward fate; that occupied them for many a day.
The class was closed with prayer and singing. As a kind of treat, the last singing was a hymn and they stood up to sing it. It was Perronet's great hymn sung to old Coronation, and when they came to the refrain, "Crown him Lord of all," the very rafters of the little church rang with the mighty volume of sound. The Bible class always closed with a great outburst of singing, and as a rule, Ranald went out tingling and thrilling through and through.
But tonight, so deeply was he exercised with the unhappy doom of the unfortunate king of Egypt, from which, apparently, there was no escape, fixed as it was by the Divine decree, and oppressed with the feeling that the same decree would determine the course of his life, he missed his usual thrill. He was walking off by himself in a perplexed and downcast mood, avoiding every one, even Don, and was nearly past the minister's gate when Hughie, excited and breathless, caught up to him and exclaimed: "Oh, Ranald, was not that splendid? Man, I like to hear John 'Aleck' sing 'Crown him' that way. And I say," he continued, "mother wants you to come in."Then all at once Ranald remembered the young man who had behaved so disgracefully in church.
"No," he said, firmly, "I must be hurrying home. The cows will be to milk yet.""Oh, pshaw! you must come," pleaded Hughie. "We will have some singing. I want you to sing bass. Perhaps John 'Aleck' will come in." This was sheer guessing, but it was good bait. But the young man with "his head split in the middle" would be there, and perhaps Maimie would be "going on," with him as she did in the Bible class.
"You will tell your mother I could not come," he said. "Yankee and father are both out, and there will be no one at home.""Well, I think you are pretty mean," said Hughie, grievously disappointed. "I wanted you to come in, and mother wanted Cousin Harry to see you.""Cousin Harry?"
"Yes; Maimie's brother came last night, you know, and Maimie is going back with him in two weeks.""Maimie's brother. Well, well, is that the nice-looking fellow that sat by you?""Huh-huh, he is awful nice, and mother wanted--""Indeed he looks it, I am sure," Ranald said, with sudden enthusiasm; "I would just like to know him. If I thought Yankee would--""Oh, pshaw! Of course Yankee will milk the cows," exclaimed Hughie. "Come on, come on in. And Ranald went to meet one of the great nights of his life.
"Here is Ranald!" called Hughie at the top of his voice, as he entered the room where the family were gathered.
"You don't say so, Hughie?" answered his cousin, coming forward.
"You ought to make that fact known. We all want to hear it."Ranald liked him from the first. He was not a bit "proud" in spite of his fine clothes and his head being "split in the middle.""You're the chap," he said, stretching out his hand to Ranald, "that snatched Maimie from the fire. Mighty clever thing to do.
We have heard a lot about you at our house. Why, every week--""Let some one else talk, Harry," interrupted Maimie, with cheeks flaming. "We are going to have some singing now. Here is auntie.
Mayn't we use the piano?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so," said Mrs. Murray. "I was glad to see your father there to-night," she said to Ranald.
"And Yankee, mother."
